


red as saga seeds, poison weight in gold

by Visardist



Category: Original Work
Genre: Anal Play, Double Penetration, F/F, Predicament Bondage, Sort Of, Vibrators
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-03
Updated: 2020-03-03
Packaged: 2021-02-28 07:20:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,795
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22999843
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Visardist/pseuds/Visardist
Summary: "Humayra, you make me wonder whom you would be harmless to.""You, my queen," Humayra attempts, hopeful. "I hope I've proved that.""Perhaps you have," the queen allows, pressing a kiss to Humayra's knuckle. "Still. You came under false pretenses."
Relationships: Queen/Her New Concubine Who Is Secretly An Assassin
Comments: 2
Kudos: 27
Collections: Writing Rainbow Red





	red as saga seeds, poison weight in gold

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Val_Creative](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Val_Creative/gifts).



> [on saga seeds](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Adenanthera_pavonina#Uses)

Humayra wakes up to a soft hand stroking her forehead, and cloth over her eyes, tight. She isn't restrained, but one thing blazes clear through her fogged mind: if she doesn't thread this situation perfectly, that will change.

"You feign sleep very well," comes the voice of the queen. Her hand keeps stroking, gently, but Humayra is suddenly aware of the small edges of her tidy nails.

"It assists to put people at ease," Humayra manages, taking stock of her senses. The queen's hand is her right, and she must be standing at Humayra's left shoulder. It sounds as if they are alone, with perhaps a guard at the door. Her forearm throbs. Not wholly useless, but also not to be relied upon.

On the other hand, the reason why it's throbbing should count for not choosing to execute her. Hopefully.

"I can't say that I'm truly at ease with you now," the queen says thoughtfully. "Whether or not you seem asleep and harmless." Her hand traces down the bridge of Humayra's nose and then lifts away. Humayra's head turns to follow instinctively before she checks herself. "Still, Humayra, you make me wonder whom you would be harmless to."

"You, my queen," Humayra attempts, hopeful. "I hope I've proved that." She feels the queen's hand (the left, she identifies) pick up her hand, with bandages tight all down her forearm. The throbbing increases. Definitely won't be able to grasp much or make a fist until it heals.

"Perhaps you have," the queen allows, pressing a kiss to Humayra's knuckle. "Still. You came under false pretenses."

\---

Queen Ghufran has been widowed for five years. Her consort sickened when their son was barely a year old, and died before his second year. Humayra remembers how the rumours had flown, that his sickness had been unnatural, that once the young prince was born and the succession assured that the queen had set about poisoning her husband. How fast and thick it had particularly been in her lord's citadel, who had sent his daughter to another country to marry, whose son had been sent to Ghufran to marry. His favourite grandson dead.

Her lord had held his anger in. The plan could only work if he did. His daughter would bear all the grief, the rage, and Ghufran would be so wary of any gift she sent that she would let slip gifts from any other quarter. Humayra had a handful of assassinations under her belt, all men, so her lord had sent her to be trained to please a woman. Then to Ghufran, on the occasion of her birthday, the first since her mourning period had ended.

How simple it is to trace Humayra's life with Ghufran, the quiet investigation of the death of the consort, the coded messages with her lord dismissing her explanation of the queen's innocence. The conclusion that she was choosing to abandon her task. Setting her work aside, putting herself towards serving her queen in whatever capacity was demanded of her. 

To trace the opposite thread is not as simple but easily worked out. Her former lord was displeased. A new avenue to accomplish the goal- someone who will make no contact with Humayra in the harem to be caught out. Planning, choosing. A new threat into Ghufran's court.

It is the barest luck that Humayra entered the throne room at the right time, that she recognised her milk-brother. It is not luck that allowed her to disarm him, nor disable him. (Though she will allow that she has grown rusty, that he could wound her so badly in the process.)

\---

The queen is not angry, Humayra thinks. If the queen were angry, there would not be good linen on her forearm, or soft pillows beneath her head. She would not touch Humayra the same way she does after Humayra has performed particularly well in the evening, or kiss Humayra's skin the way she does when she is delighted in the morning.

Still. There were bound to be consequences.

Humayra is bare to the torso- to aid with binding the wound or because she's bled all over her tunic, she guesses- but now the queen calls in the guard from outside. She feels them both leaning over her, stripping the rest of her clothes off her. She tries to keep as still as possible, wincing only when they jar her arm, and is rewarded with a kiss to her lips when she's fully nude.

It is not the queen who picks up her ankle and begins to wind rope around it. It is certainly the queen who returns to stroking her forehead, instructing the guard about how Humayra should be posed and bound. Humayra tries to comply as much as she can, but when the guard grabs her forearm, she lets out a cry of pain.

"Very good," the queen murmurs above her. "Yes, you should endure what was gained in service of me. I think we shall not bind her hands that way, Ismat. Like this." Humayra can make no sense of how they bend her arms this way and that, finding the perfect method of binding her. She whimpers all the while, playing it up a little. If she must suffer to regain Ghufran's favour, so be it.

"That will do," the queen says at last. "To your post for now, Ismat." Humayra hears the guard pacing away, the door sliding closed. The queen runs a hand down her belly, just where she's the most ticklish, and she jerks instinctively. The movement sends a spike of fire down her forearm from where the rope binds her.

"You can remove yourself from that, I am sure," the queen tells her, fingers deftly finding the spots that Humayra does not expect. Her wounded forearm is loosely bound in contrast to the other, the slack not putting pressure on her bandages unless she pulls, and each time the queen touches her, she does pull. Still, because the queen has challenged her, she strains until her fingertips meet.

"As you can see, my queen," Humayra answers, letting her arm fall slack again. The queen cannot be angry if she is toying with her this way. But she feels the queen's presence move from the bedside, and she wonders if this is all.

"You must not think I will allow one rescue to wipe out your deceit," the queen's voice drifts from some distance away, accompanied by the clatter of boxes opening. "There will be much to do before I can allow you to be trusted."

The queen splays her hand between Humayra's breasts when she returns to her side, stroking down Humayra's body to her cleft with her other hand. This is familiar and yet, as Humayra shivers and tries to keep her arms still, there's something new and thrilling to the matter. Down her fluff of hair, down slowly over her pearl, a torturous drag through the wetness there (a familiar and welcome laugh above her), lingering to slide fingers in slowly, luxuriously. The queen begins pinching and rubbing one nipple as well, so that Humayra is distracted when she slides her fingers out and down to the other hole.

The gasp Humayra makes is soft but physical enough to jar her forearm badly, and she follows it with another pained cry. The queen murmurs soothingly, but doesn't stop either ministration, and Humayra, not quiet at all now, slowly responds to the rubbing over her hole, opening up to the queen's slick fingers. It's not enough, no one could be wet enough to assist with that, but it's enough to allow the queen to slide something in, already drizzled with oil, and that oil and that object open her up the rest of the way.

That can't be all, too tame and too little for everything she's sure Ghufran wants to punish her for, but Humayra cannot predict what the queen will do now. So she does her best, the one hole too full, the other dripping with want and too empty. She has been taught to beg prettily, but pretty is no friend to pain. Just begging, and if the queen finds it pretty, she will count herself lucky.

She's on the edge of full pleasure when the queen finally stops touching her, and her begging changes as quickly. She can hear her queen's sweet laughter, and a kiss to her cheek and then her lips, but when she opens her mouth, trying to deepen it, the queen lifts her head away. Another pinch to her nipple, her pearl, and the inside of her thigh.

"If I were inclined to share I might have you painted like this," Ghufran muses. "In each stage, untouched, half-done."

"Only half, my queen?" Humayra replies, trying to sound coy, and failing through the raggedness of abandoned arousal. She feels the queen drag fingers through her slick emptiness again, and down to where she must be doing something to whatever it is in her hole.

"Perhaps less than half." Humayra jerks again, whimpering at the shot of lightning up her forearm, when the object in her hole begins vibrating. The queen strokes the soft hair of her cleft, chuckling as Humayra stills and moves and stills again. So close to her pearl, Humayra could almost cry, but that isn't what's welling up out of her, and quicker than before, too soon, she is shaking with pleasure, spiked with pain like one of the queen's favourite sweets. 

She is not lying still too long, muscles lax and aching, when she feels another object sliding against her pearl before pushing into her wetness. The first one has not stopped vibrating- no doubt this will be alike.

"An- an unusual way of rebuilding trust, my queen," Humayra manages, no longer attempting even the barest hint of calm. She feels the queen pat one breast like a recalcitrant pup, and then her hand between her thighs again, manipulating the still object before it begins vibrating too. She can't help gasping at the contrasting sensations- there is a noticeable difference between how each object vibrates, and it's enough to send her arching, ignoring the pull on her wounded forearm. "My- my queen-"

"Now we're half-done, Humayra," the queen tells her, kissing her cheek. "Just for today. Prove yourself to me now." Humayra doesn't understand what she means, mind fogged with pleasure-pain, not until footsteps cross the floor and the door slides open and closed. Then she's left alone with only sensation and blindness, biting her lip as- oh heavens- the vibrations in each object begin to alter speed. They must be made to switch, so she cannot get used to them.

Nothing to do but feel. Nothing to be done but prove herself.


End file.
